Style

By WR Jones

I saw a young black man at a grocery store today with his pants barely hanging on below the hips and 50% of his underwear showing.  He made a small tug on his trousers to hike them up a bit.  It did help keep him from tripping over his pant legs I suppose but that was about all.  The fact that he was black doesn’t really enter into my observation except as a paragraph filler.  This makes it seem I work harder at this writing business.

I looked at him wondering how he chose this particular dress style.  He must have seen someone else with his ass hanging out and said to himself, “Wow, that looks cool.  I want that look.”  This is probably how most of us pick our dress style.  I went to a western hat store last week to have my Stetson “Open Road” hat shaped to fit my head better.  I bought the hat because I saw an old gentleman with the same hat and thought he looked elegant.  I told the woman in the store the reason I had purchased this particular hat and could not understand how I looked like such a buffoon with it on my head.   After all, I and the old gentleman were about the same age.  How could he look elegant and I look like a common shithead?  After reshaping the hat the woman said it looked better.  I asked her if I looked elegant now.  Damn I hate blunt women.  As a business woman you would think she could finesse a little lie.

Another issue:

This painting started out as a still life of a slice of apple pie.   I can’t seem to gain control of my compositions; they run amok.   At one point I had a dump truck and a miniature giraffe in the foreground when my wife suggested flowers.  I followed her suggestion as gospel (a little play on words and illustration) as I was hungry and wanted some dinner.  Are there any drugs that will:

1.  make me feel very good

2.  make it so I don’t have to pee quite so often

3.  clamp down on this ADD that jerks me from one subject to another before I get my paints laid out.

Thicker Is Not Better

By wr jones

You can tell by the expression of this young lady, unless you are an idiot, that she is fed up with plastic packaging.  I am too.

She is missing her left arm which was lopped off in a chain saw accident while trying to open her new toaster.

All this talk about “Green” is a huge pile of whiffledust.  We keep pouring more and more plastic into the environment.   I don’t really care about the coming ecological disaster, I will be gone.  But someone, say around the age of 3, should be near panic.  If they were smart they would write their congress person to complain.  Assuming, of course, the 3 year old could remove the thick damn plastic from the new pen.

I bought some batteries the other day.  Spent 30 minutes trying to get them out of the pack.  Missed the show I was needing the batteries to watch.  I looked high and low thru the house for an implement to cut through the very hard thick plastic package.  Finally used those chicken scissors that are part of a cutlery set.  Even then it was a struggle.  I expect the next step in the package industry vs consumer war they will move toward a steel box welded shut to hold those paper clips you need for the office.

I can understand this vault type packaging would cut down on the shoplifting of small items.  Hard to hide that watch battery entombed in a body size package you can barely get to the counter with a large cart.

Performance Enhancing

By W. R. Jones

I don’t get what the fuss is about performance enhancing drugs.  Those athletes are doomed to train-wreck bodies anyway.  Do you really give a shit what drugs they take?  If you do simply because they may influence your little Johnny or Mary to imitate their heroes, then you should start a parents against ball players chewing tobacco and scratching their nuts on TV group.  I may join that one myself.

If they had painting enhancing drugs I would take them in a pair of seconds.  I’ve Googled every possible combo looking for such a thing.  If fact I’m surprised they don’t have at least a high cost placebo.   Look at all the ads suggesting 98% of men have limp peckers.  We must have an equally high of  percentage of us that don’t paint all that well.  We  need a drug promising excellent painting results in 90 days; accompanied by TV promos showing suck work before and pieces of great beauty hanging in the Louvre with the painter speaking fluent French (when before the drug they spoke a lower form of Eubonics).

I’ve tried alcohol (more than a few times) all with the same result.  It seems the painting is going swimmingly but the next thing I know I’m waking on the bed with paint loaded brush still in my hand now resting on the pillow next to me.  So far I’ve been lucky in that the brush has always landed on my wife’s pillow.  She will have to check her hair in the morning light for undesired highlights.